Impact
by Harthad
Summary: Jack leaves for Santa Fe, and almost everyone that he ever knew is devastated by this. Some try to go after him, some forget, and some break. Slightly Crutchie-centric.
1. Chapter 1

"Don't you dare walk out on me, Jack Kelly!"

Katherine stood, clutching her coat tight in her arms. Her steely eyes blazed with fire as she gored into her husband's back. This would have been all well and good….if they were at home.

About twenty of the newsies had been caught in the living room of the Lodging House when it happened. They were trapped now, unable to leave the scene for fear of setting off either Jack or Katherine. Race pretended to stare out the window. Specs tried to read. Crutchie sat looking into the fire. Romeo pretended to sleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket.

"Don't you dare leave this house," Katherine threatened again. "You have a duty."

"A duty to what?" Jack asked scathingly. He gestured at the newsies. "Them? You?"

"So that's it, you're just going to leave?!" Katherine's voice rose. Jack walked back inside the house.

"I asked you to come with me, Ace. I asked ya twice. And you refused!"

"Because New York needs us!"

"Hell to New York!" Jack shouted. "What has this damn city ever given me?! Food, clothing? Friends? Family?! I have a chance, Ace, and I'm takin' it—"

"You are the most selfish man on this planet, Jack Kelly, and I—"

"What?" Jack asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. "How're you going to stop me?"

"I can't believe you'd throw all this away for money—"

"So would you, if all you'd ever known was bein' poor!" Jack exploded. "I got a promotion, Katherine! A PROMOTION. And you think I'm jus' goin' to throw that away?!"

"My father purposely gave you an offer like that, Kelly, and you know it—"

"Oh," Jack laughed. "It's 'Kelly' now, ain't it? Alright, Plumber, you heard me. I'm leavin'. Catchin' a train foist thing in the mornin'. With or without ya, Ace. I'm leavin'."

"You're turning your back on them just when they need you most—"

"They don't need me anymore! Ain't that right, fellas? You're gettin' by yourselves?"

Crutchie coughed.

Jack raised his voice. "Don't you dare try to guilt trip me, you—you—"

"Jack, don't leave! Please!" Katherine pleaded. Jack gave her a look of fury and raced out the door. Katherine rushed after him, stumbling over her skirts.

"Please, Jack! Come back!"

Her cries echoed through the streets of New York until they became nothing. She tried to compose herself but failed, turning to run back inside the Lodging House. The newsies all stood, facing her. Their faces were blank, expressionless, though with great self-control.

"He's gone." Katherine's lip trembled. "He left."


	2. Chapter 2

FIVE MONTHS LATER

"Katherine, we can't do anythin' to make 'im move! He's jus' sittin' there, smilin' an'—an' talkin' to the air! Well—now he's talkin' to Davey. But before he was talkin' to the air!"

Katherine nodded, a lump rising in her throat as she made a move to reassure Race. "I'll—I'll talk to him."

"Ya gotta do more than that!" Race said in a harsh whisper. "Ever since—Jack went away, he's been worse an' worse an' worse. Thinks Jack's still here. He even said somethin' to Spot Conlon about it, at that anniversary we 'ad fer the strike! And you know what Spot Conlon thinks of us now? He thinks we should take better care of our own, and put Crutchie in some hospital! And then—then he said that if we don't, Brooklyn will."

"Race," Katherine repeated, more firm this time. "Brooklyn is not doing anything with our—your newsies. Tell Spot Conlon we can handle this. Alright?"

Race nodded, and lit his cigar as he walked away.

Katherine slowly approached Davey, Les and Crutchie, her mouth tightening into a thin little line. Davey glanced up at her with wide eyes, imperceptibly shaking his head. Give me more time, he seemed to say.

"Crutchie?" Katherine asked, trying to keep her voice calm and gentle. "Crutchie, it's me. Katherine."

Crutchie looked at her, confused. "I—I know that. I was jus' tellin' Jack about—"

"No," Davey interrupted. "Crutchie, Jack ain't here."

Crutchie gave him a look. "Uh, Dave, he's right behind you—"

"He left," Katherine interjected, her voice soft. "He's been gone nearly a year, Crutchie."

"N-no, he hasn't," Crutchie insisted, suddenly coughing. "He—he promised me he'd never—"

"Jack promised a lot of things," Davey said, almost becoming visibly upset. "He said a whole lot of things, but—"

"He meant everythin'!" Crutchie argued, coughing again. "Jack never gave up on us—"

"Except when he left!"

"Boys!" Katherine cut in sharply as Crutchie continued to cough. "This won't solve anything. Davey, will you and Les, please—"

"Fine," Davey grumbled, grabbing Les' hand. "You'll know where to find us."

The door slammed, along with Les' protests.

Katherine took a deep breath, one that turned to a face creased with worry. "Crutchie, are you alright?"

"F-fine," Crutchie shivered. "I meant it, what I said, Dave's got no right tah talk about Jack that way—right, Jack?"

He turned to the air, nodding. Katherine cringed.

"Yeah, Jack, I know. Davey was wrong, I know that."

Katherine slowly reached out to take Crutchie's hand. It was clammy and cold.

"Jack, will ya stay with me, this time? I ain't feelin' so good—"

"Crutchie," Katherine whispered. "Listen to me. Listen to me, please? Not Jack."

Crutchie turned away from the air, and focused on the young woman.

"Crutchie, Race—Race has decided to put you somewhere," Katherine's voice nearly became inaudible. Jack, it seemed, liked to destroy everyone's lives. "A hospital, where you can get better."

"What? A hospital?! Katherine, there's nothin' wrong with me! I ain't crazy! I ain't!"

"Nobody said you were. It's—it's for your own good."

"Lockin' me up in some asylum's fer my own good?!" Crutchie exclaimed, staring at her with horror. "Katherine, you can't do this! Asylums is as bad as the Refuge! You—you can't do this to me!"

"Crutchie, I tried," Katherine said. "Race decided this, not me. The newsies raised the money. I tried so hard to change their minds—"

Crutchie jerked his hand away from her. "Not hard enough."

"Crutchie, you know anyone other than me—"

"—Wouldn't lock me up!" Crutchie yelled, and the Lodging House fell silent. "I ain't crazy! Katherine, please! You don't know what they do to kids like me in there! And—and it costs millions fer this! Who's payin' it, huh?! Who?!"

Specs cleared his throat. "Pulitzer."

Katherine's eyes widened with shock. "You never told me this."

"Race an' I pe—peti—asked him two days ago. Said it….was fer the public good. He liked that part."

"You're as bad as them!" Crutchie shouted at Katherine. "Sendin' me away—your fathah!"

"I never told my father about any of this—"

Crutchie grabbed his crutch, standing up. He pushed past Katherine and tried to reach the front door before anyone caught him. Albert stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Crutch, think about this, please—"

"I did," Crutchie pushed him away. "I did. You all—you're all traitors!"

He pushed through the crowd of newsies, none of them making any real effort to stop him. Crutchie reached out for the doorknob, not even stopping for Katherine's plea for him to come back.

"If you leave, you'll be just like Jack!"

Crutchie swallowed. "You nevah tried tah put Jack in an asylum, didja?"

He limped out the front steps, and vanished into the city's night.


	3. Chapter 3

"Crutchie!" Les grinned as he yanked open the door to his tenement, welcoming the older newsie inside.

Davey ran over to meet his brother, subconsciously wrapping his arm around his shoulders. He eyed Crutchie, a tiny bit wary and very apologetic. As it turned out, so was Crutchie.

"Dave," Crutchie began, "I'm sorry fer what I said earlier. Jack an' I—"

He took a deep breath.

"Please, can I stay 'ere for the night?"

Davey nodded. "What about the Lodging House?"

Crutchie took off his hat and hung it on a pole, limping past his friend. "They….they want to shut me away. In some asylum."

Davey went pale. How had Crutchie found out? He stuck his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sure they think it's for your own good," he said, quiet. Too quiet. Crutchie didn't hear him.

"Can you believe it?" Crutchie turned to him. "They've been plannin' this behind my back fer days—months, even!" He stopped, suddenly looking at Davey in a newfound light. "You—you didn't know, did you?"

Davey opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by his mother hurrying into the front hall.

"Davey, who is out there with you—oh. Crutchie! What a pleasant surprise! Come in—did David offer you any dinner?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well come on in, I have just the thing for you. Do you like soup?"

"I'll eat anything, ma'am!"

"Good, good…."

Les looked up at his older brother, and leaned over to whisper. "Davey, why didn't you tell Crutchie that you knew?"

Davey glanced at him. "Les, you weren't supposed to find out about that!"

"I couldn't help it, Race talks really loudly—"

"Look," Davey lowered his voice, bending down to put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "We can't tell Crutchie. Okay? This…this has to be a secret."

"But why?"

"Because—"

"David? Les?" Mrs. Jacobs returned to the front hall. "Are you going to leave your friend to suffer through my company?"

"Sorry, Ma," Davey responded, and walked into the small kitchen. "Crutchie, I'll set you up somewhere to stay the night."

"Thanks, Dave," Crutchie looked at him far too gratefully, and Davey felt a pang of guilt enter his chest. "Ya don't gotta waste too much space on me. I'm small, ya know."

"Yeah, yeah, well…."

Crutchie returned to his soup, and Davey began to fix the blankets and a pillow so his friend would have a place to sleep. He'd….he would tell him in the morning. Sooner or later, the other newsies would come looking for him. Surely Crutchie would see that it's all for his own good, right?

That night, Davey tossed and turned in the bed, straining not to wake up Les, who was sleeping beside him. He froze, hearing a voice from the kitchen. There was only one person in the kitchen, and that person was supposed to be sleeping.

"Jack, I know. They all kept secrets from me, but I can trus' Dave, right? He's always honest…..now be quiet, okay? I'm tryin' to sleep. Jack, shush!"

Davey rolled back over, guilt covering him like another blanket.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning heralded bright sunshine, warm air and bad news that Davey was still trying to figure out how to tell Crutchie.

The answer came far too quickly with a knock on the door.

Crutchie, who was sitting at the table eating breakfast graciously provided by Mrs. Jacobs, froze. He heard Davey open the door, exchanging words with Specs and Albert. Crutchie slowly put down his spoon, thanked Mrs. Jacobs, picked up his crutch and tried to limp out the back door before anyone saw.

"Hey, Crutchie?"

It was Davey, who, to Crutchie's confusion, looked incredibly guilty. Behind him were Albert and Specs.

Crutchie backed up.

"We ain't gonna hurt you," Specs promised, ashamed that he even had to say that to someone he thought of as his brother. "Just come with us, okay?"

"Where?" Crutchie took another step back.

"Lodgin' House," Albert answered. "Race wants to apologize."

Apologize? Race hardly ever apologized. Something was up. Crutchie edged back until his hand found the doorknob. "You're not going to lock me up?"

"No, no!" Specs forced a laugh. "No, Crutchie! We're not. It was all a mistake. We never should've mentioned it. It was all a misunderstandin'!"

"Yeah?" Crutchie eyed them. "For my own good, huh?"

"Yeah, this is all fer your own—Crutchie! Wait!"

Albert and Specs ran to the fire escape, looking down as Crutchie limped down the steps. Albert flew out the front door, running to the bottom of the fire escape. Crutchie froze halfway down, glancing back up. Both Davey and Specs were at the top. Albert was at the bottom.

"I ain't a prisoner!" Crutchie yelled at the three. He turned to his side. "Jack, tell 'em that they can't keep me 'ere. Or send me away. They gotta know that. Please, Jack! Jus' tell 'em."

Crutchie turned back to the newsies. "Jack says tah let me go!"

"Can't do that," Specs said, hurrying down to meet Crutchie on the stairs. Crutchie started to limp away. "Specs—go away—"

Albert buried his face in his hands. "Specs, do what he says."

Specs stopped. "What?"

"He ain't some criminal. Jus' leave 'im. He'll be…fine."

Crutchie and Specs looked at each other. "But….I can still come back to the Lodgin' House, right?" Crutchie asked, nervous. Specs turned away, and Crutchie chased after him.

"Specs! Wait!"

They ran into the Jacobs' tenement. Specs ran into the hall while Davey tried to stop Crutchie.

"Crutchie, you can't—"

Crutchie faltered, almost tripping. Les walked in, glancing from left to right at the scene.

"Did you tell him, Davey?"

Davey cringed, and Crutchie turned pale. "Tell me what?"

"That Davey knew about puttin' you in an asylum—"

"No!" Davey yelled. "Crutchie, he's—he's joking, I would never—"

"Davey, stop lying!" Les shouted.

Crutchie stared at the duo, aghast. "You—you lied to me—"

"I never said I didn't know!" Davey protested, reaching out to stop Crutchie from leaving. "You can't leave, Race will—"

Crutchie pushed him away, accidentally lashing out with his crutch. Davey fell to the ground, groaning. Les' mouth dropped open, and Crutchie started to back away.

"I'm—I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean to do that!"

Les stepped in front of Davey, arms folded across his chest. "Go away!"

"It was an accident, Les!"

"GO. AWAY!"

Crutchie needed no second bidding. He limped out the door, disappearing into the streets once more.


	5. Chapter 5

Crutchie left the Jacobs' tenement, heart beating wildly. He glanced around before limping away as fast as he could. He practically ran down the street, and ended up bumping into the two people who hated him most.

"Hey! Watch where you're goin'!" Oscar sneered, pushing Crutchie aside. Morris faked a move at him, but both froze when they heard many voices coming down the sidewalk.

"Crutchie!"

"Crutchie, where are you?"

"Crutchie, please come back!"

"It's alright, Crutchie! I'm fine!"

Oscar and Morris looked at each other, confused. They looked at Crutchie, who never thought he'd be asking the Delancey brothers for help.

"Hide me!" He begged.

The two started to walk away, but Crutchie limped after them.

"Look, we ain't playing any game of yours—"

"It ain't a game!" Crutchie pleaded, and something in his voice made the brothers stop. "They're tryin' to lock me up in an asylum. They think I think that Jack's still 'ere. They think I talk to 'im. Please—I'll never bother you ever again! That's a promise!"

Oscar and Morris looked at each other, exchanging some kind of silent conversation. Oscar nodded, and took hold of Crutchie's arm, dragging him back into an alleyway.

"Stay here," Oscar whispered. "We'll lead 'em away."

Crutchie nodded, and opened his mouth to say 'thank you'.

"Quiet," Oscar admonished, and ran out into the street to rejoin his brother. He cracked his knuckles. "I'd say we took care of him, don't ya say, Morris?" He said loudly as Race and Elmer passed by.

"I'd say," Morris stated, "That the—stupid crip won't be... walkin' for a while."

"Cause we dumped 'im into the harbor. In a locked chest. So nobody'll ever find him. Don't ya say, Morris?"

"I'd say. Oscar."

"I'd say."

Race and the other newsies surrounded the Delanceys, shouting and screaming abuse at the pair. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT YOU BASTARDS YOU'LL BE ARRESTED FOR THIS HE WAS JUST A KID HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO CRUTCHIE—

As Morris and Oscar desperately fought back to keep the newsies at bay, they noticed a slight, sickly figure run out from the alleyway and down the street, mouthing one last "Thank you!" at the pair.


	6. Chapter 6

Crutchie sought refuge in a small alley near Grand Central, beginning to cough again. He slumped against the wall, his crutch clattering to the ground. He bent over, trying to hide his coughs to draw no suspicion. Crutchie looked up at the sound of a voice no one else heard, and began to speak.

"Jack, I'm fine. Can't exactly go back to the Lodgin' House, now can I?"He mustered up a smile. "Can ya believe the Delancey brothers 'elped me, Jack? They helped me get away from—"

Crutchie sucked in a huge breath shuddering. "I can't believe they'd lock me up, Jack. In a place woise than the Refuge! You'd nevah do that, wouldja? Wouldja, Jack?"

He flinched, drawing back as he saw two people enter his alley. "Jack, help me—"

Oscar and Morris exchanged looks, uncertain. They knew Jack had left, but that had been months ago. Why was this kid talking to a person who wasn't there?

"Kid?" Morris asked, uncertain, while Oscar held up his hands, frowning.

"We ain't gonna hurt ya. Jus' wanna know what's goin' on."

Crutchie scooted back even farther. "Jack, ya gotta help me—"

"Do I look like Jack?" Oscar frowned, bending down. "Crutchie. Kelly ain't here. Been gone fer nearly a year."

"N-no, you're wrong, that's what they're all sayin', I don't understand—"

Morris cleared his throat, nudging Oscar. Oscar stood up, turning away from the boy with one last statement, "Don't ya got work to do, kid?"

Crutchie only coughed in response, but tried to stop as the newsies found the alleyway.

"HEY! GET AWAY FROM—Crutchie?!"

Race, Albert and Specs ran to their friend, pushing aside the Delanceys. Race bent down, going to pick him up.

"Let go of me!" Crutchie exclaimed. Race stopped.

"Look. Kid. I want ya to come with me, okay? It's—it's what Jack woulda wanted. It's….it's what he wants."

Albert and Specs glanced at Race, their eyes wide. Race took a deep breath. "Crutchie, Jack told me this mornin'. He's jus' concerned about you. You're sick, okay? Jack don't want you to get any worse. He said it's….it's okay to send you somewhere."

Crutchie shook his head. "Jack, you—you said that?"

All the people in the alley were silent as Race pretended to listen to somewhere who wasn't there.

"See?" Race asked after a minute or so had gone by. "See, Crutchie? Jack says it's alright. He wants you to trus' me, alright? He wants you safe."

"We all do," Specs added, folding his arms across his chest to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling he had at Race's plan.

"J-Jack, ya don't mean that, it's jus' like the Refuge—"

"C'mon, Crutchie," Race insisted, grabbing hold of his arm. He gestured for Albert, who, after looking at Specs, grabbed Crutchie's other arm. Together, they struggled to take Crutchie out with them. Specs, almost as an afterthought, grabbed the crutch. On their way out, Oscar stopped Specs.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Oscar hissed. "Crutchie needs help, not—"

"You're the las' person I'd expect tah be sayin' what Crutchie needs and what he doesn't," Specs shot back, and ran after the others.

"Katherine's waitin' with the carriage," Specs told them, mainly for Crutchie's benefit. "They're gonna take care of you, Crutch. I promise."

Crutchie had stopped struggling, and was just hanging in Race and Albert's arms. "Can't believe Jack toldja tah do this."


	7. Chapter 7

TO JACK KELLY STOP WE MISS YOU EVERYONE MISSES YOU STOP NEWSIES ARE DOING GOOD STOP DAVEY AND I STARTED SCHOOL STOP WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK STOP

JACK KELLY STOP DAVEY MISSES YOU STOP I MISS YOU TOO OF COURSE STOP NONE OF THE NEWSIES WANT TO STOP SEND YOU TELEGRAMS STOP HOW IS SANTA FE IS IT EVERYTHING STOP YOU EXPECTED IT WAS

JACK KELLY STOP I MISS YOU PLEASE COME BACK STOP WE'RE HAVING A CELEBRATION FOR STOP THE STRIKE PLEASE COME BACK STOP

JACK STOP EVERYONE MISSES YOU EVERYONE IS SAD STOP EVEN CRUTCHIE IS SAD STOP DAVEY IS SAD STOP KATHERINE AND RACE AND ALBERT ARE SAD STOP PLEASE COME HOME STOP

JACK KELLY STOP BROOKLYN DOESN'T LIKE US STOP IF YOU COME BACK THEY WOULD LEAVE STOP US NEWSIES ALONE STOP I AM ALMOST DONE WITH SCHOOL STOP FOR THE YEAR STOP CRUTCHIE IS SICK STOP

Jack crumpled up the latest telegram from Les, throwing it into the wastebasket as he left the post office. He adjusted his tie, whistling as he stepped out into the bright, sunny town of his.

"Mr. Kelly? Sir?"

Jack turned as a young, blonde kid with freckles ran out from the office. He was holding up a letter.

"This's for you. Thought you'd want it. You must've forgotten it when you were throwing away those telegrams."

Jack took the letter, mussing the kid's hair. "Thanks, Nigel. Did anyone say who's it from?"

"A Mr. Morris, sir."

Jack reeled back. He turned away from Nigel, quickly opening up the letter. Throughout these nine months, it had only ever been Les who had bothered sending him telegrams. But those were faster than letters, weren't they? It made sense for this letter to be coming now, when it might have been written many months ago. He looked down at Crutchie's chicken scrawl, noticing with a pang the ending where the 'sincerely' should have been.

_Dear Jack,_

_It's been a month and we all miss you. I miss ya the most. I had to go to Snyder's trial and give test—testim—stuff against him because you wasn't there. I told them all the things i went through at the Refuge and some of the stuff you said too because you probably had a harder time than me. Snyder officially went to jail. he's out of our lives now, Jack! You can come back now. You got to. Katherine misses you. She hardly ever stops by anymore. Not that I really go to the Lodging House a lot. We all miss you, Jack. You got to come home. Please._

_Your brother,_

_Crutchie_

Underneath that was a P.S crossed out and rewritten so many times that it was near impossible to read what it said. Slowly, deliberately, Jack crumpled up the letter in his hands and tossed it to the ground.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Nigel," Jack adjusted his hat. "Gotta get back to the office now. And—if any more letters come fer me in the future, just ignore 'em, okay? Except the ones from…from Mr. Pulitzer. Those are probably about my job, and I gotta read those."

"But sir—"

Jack shook his head. "I really gotta get moving, kid. I'll see you around."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, ignoring the creeping feeling of doubt spreading through his head. Maybe he should go back. But no, he insisted. There was nothing for him in New York. Only cold streets and thugs. No friends, no family. Nothing like sunny Santa Fe.

Only, here he had no friends either.


	8. Chapter 8

"And the patient's last name?"

"Morris."

Race, Davey and Specs were sitting in high-backed, leather-bound chairs in the office of the asylum director. The three had apparently been deemed the most responsible of all the newsies, and were now in charge of handling all the information about Crutchie.

"Height?"

"Uh…."

"Five…..feet?" Davey asked, uncertain. The director nodded. "We'll measure him when he arrives. Any physical ailments that need to be addressed?"

"He's crippled," Specs said. "Can't use his right leg. Polio."

The director paused. "Does he have polio currently?"

Race spoke up, afraid that this might be something that could prevent them from taking him. "No. He doesn't."

"You'll find that here at Weatherby Asylum we'll take good care of him," the director assured the trio. "You can bring him here this evening."

The three stood up, thanking the director. On their way out, Davey stopped, looking toward the door that led to the rooms where the mentally ill were being kept. "What if it's like he said?" he asked, distant. "If it's really like the Refuge."

"We paid fer a good hospital, remember?" Race reminded him. "Or at least Pulitzer did. He'll be put into a private place. Which ain't anythin' like the Refuge. Besides, it's for his own good. He'll get food, an' baths, an'…"

"Maybe I should go insane," Specs muttered. "Wouldn't mind good food."

Davey threw a look at him. "Cut that out, will you? Crutchie's going to get more than good food. I've heard that—"

"He's gonna get fixed up, an' that's all I care about," Race said, heading toward the door. Davey suddenly burst out, angry.

"What if they do something to him?! What if they're all like Snyder?! What if they all torture him, or, or, or kill him?! Jack wouldn't—"

"Jack ain't here," Race interrupted, opening the doors. "I'm in charge. This is my decision. Crutchie's gonna be fine. You'll see, Dave. He'll be good as new once we get him outta here in a few months."

"A few months?!" Specs exclaimed. "Race, you never said we'll be lockin' 'im up here for a few months—"

"If that's what it takes, I'll do it!" Race shouted back. "He's seein' people, talkin' to people that ain't here, Specs! A month in here—well. You heard what that fella said. They'll take good care of 'im."


	9. Chapter 9

"You're going to be just fine," Katherine assured Crutchie, drawing him in for a hug. He and the other newsies were gathered in the front room of the Lodging House, waiting for the carriage. "I've read all about the Weatherby Asylum. It's a private institution, only for the very rich. They'll take good care of you."

"Then why're you sendin' me there, if it's for the rich?"

"Because we got the money," Race piped up. Crutchie shot him a sour look, still not quite trusting him.

"Ya mean, Pulitzer got the money," he muttered.

Katherine closed her eyes, trying not to sigh audibly. "Crutchie," she began. "All we want is for you to get better. I promise we'll come visit, and—"

"It's here," Romeo said from his perch on the window. "The carriage's 'ere."

"You have everything?" Davey inquired, picking up a suitcase filled with Crutchie's meager belongings—an extra pair of each item he already wore.

Crutchie nodded, taking the suitcase in his free hand.

"Want me to walk you out there?" Katherine asked, and Crutchie shook his head, attempting to allay the fears bubbling up in his stomach.

"No. No, I'll be fine, like ya said. I can manage." He coughed into the crook of his arm. "I'll be fine."

He took a deep breath, and headed out the front door. Apprehension tickled his insides as he came upon the black carriage. A man took his suitcase as he struggled to get inside the carriage.

"Need a hand, dear?"

Crutchie glanced up at a young, awfully pretty woman. Her dark hair was in a bun, and she wore a long dress with a lace collar. She did not seem the type of person to be going to a mental hospital, but then, neither did he. Crutchie took the offered hand and hoisted himself up into the seat, placing his crutch on the floor. The woman drew back, settling herself on the seat beside him.

"I hadn't expected someone else to accompany me," she admitted as the carriage began to draw away from the Lodging House. Crutchie immediately turned and pressed his face to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of his friends.

"But as soon as I gathered we were going to pick up another person, I must admit I was quite curious to find out who it was."

Crutchie sat back in the seat, feeling quite dejected and sorry for himself. A sharp comment from the woman brought him back to his senses.

"But if you do continue to wallow in your silence, this ride will be an awful bore. Unless…" She suddenly looked uncertain, and almost mortified at her earlier comment. "Unless you cannot talk at all. In which case I am very sorry, and—"

"No, no, I can talk," Crutchie interrupted her before she got any farther. "I…I was jus' tryin' to see my friends. Um—I'm Crutchie. Who…who might you be, ma'am?"

"Miss Bly, if you will," she responded. "Nellie Bly. Are you going to Weatherby, Blackwell or Bloomingdale?"

"Uh—Weatherby, miss."

"Good. I have heard pleasant stories about it. I am going to Blackwell."

"D'you work there, miss?"

"Work there—oh, goodness no. I am being admitted as a patient."

Crutchie looked her up and down. "A patient, miss?"

"Yes. Do you work at Weatherby, young man?"

"Uh—no."

"Then I must assume you are being admitted as well. You don't look like someone insane—what do they think you do?"

"I, uh, talk to people. People who ain't here. They think I do that, at least."

Miss Bly looked over at him, pity appearing in her eyes for just a moment.

"Weatherby is a very good asylum," she assured him in soft tones, "They feed all their patients. Visiting hours are open all the time, for tourists and such."

"Tourists?"

"People who like to travel, and see new things."

"I—I was scared it was gonna be like The Refuge."

"That old place?" Miss Bly clucked her tongue. "No. Weatherby is nothing like that. Bloomingdale, on the other hand…"

Crutchie glanced out the window. A chill ran down his spine. "Bl-Bloomingdale?"

"Yes, my dear, why—"

She leaned over his way, peering out the window. Crutchie looked back at her.

"If you're goin' to Blackwell, an' I'm goin' to Weatherby, then why're we at Bloomingdale?!"

"Don't panic, dear. I'm sure there must be a reasonable explanation—"

The carriage door on Crutchie's side opened. A man grabbed his arm, yanking him onto the ground.

"Hey, wait—" Crutchie yelled out as the man began to march him off. "My crutch!"

Nellie Bly had gotten out of the carriage and was running to the man, crutch in hand. "You told him he was going to Weatherby!"

"Get back in the carriage!" Two other men ran up and took hold of Nellie's arms, forcing her away. The man holding Crutchie scooped up the crutch.

"You want this?" he taunted, holding it just out of reach. Crutchie looked around desperately for help, but Miss Bly had already been taken away. The carriage was pulling out. "You want this, kid?"

"Yes!" Crutchie exclaimed, distressed. The man knocked his legs out from underneath him with the crutch, and then picked him up in his arms.

"You have to learn how to behave," the man cooed, pretending he was talking to a baby.

"Let—me—go!" Crutchie started to struggle, but the man hit him again.

"Stop that, or there's no food for supper," he admonished. "And you want supper, don't you? Don't you want some food? Answer me!"

"Yes," Crutchie muttered, a little dazed from the earlier blow. The man dropped him and picked him up by his arms, forcing him to walk through the doors of the asylum.

"You've even got a private room!" the man told him as they walked through the halls. "All to yourself. And special treatment. What a lucky boy you are—there's only special treatment for the worst cases. All paid in advance, of course—Mr. Pulitzer thought he was paying for Weatherby. But they don't have any more room there, do they! So you were sent here. Isn't that nice?"

They stopped outside a filthy cell, waiting while a guard unlocked the doors. Crutchie was unceremoniously thrown inside, collapsing to the ground. He groaned in pain, sitting up just as his crutch was thrown in after him. The object whopped him on the forehead, and he fell back.

Crutchie closed his eyes, and everything went dark.


	10. Chapter 10

"Excuse me? Excuse me?"

Katherine stood at the desk of Weatherby Asylum, peering over. Davey, who was standing behind her, glanced over at a group that was just coming out of the area where the patients were held. They were talking excitedly as they left, no doubt interested in all the people they had just learned about.

He really hoped Crutchie was doing alright.

It had been almost a month before any of the newsies had managed to raise more money to visit. The newsies were currently waiting outside, as they had been told only two could see their friend.

A man sauntered up behind the desk, beaming at Katherine and Davey. "Hello! So sorry for the delay. And how may I help you?"

"We're here to see a young Mr. Morris?" Katherine spoke up. "Would you please tell him we've arrived?"

"Morris?" The man frowned. "That name doesn't sound familiar….let me check the records." He bent down and brought up a folder, leafing through it until he arrived at the right section. He frowned, flipping through the pages once, then a second time.

"I'm…sorry, but there isn't a Mr. Morris listed here."

Davey and Katherine looked at each other. "There must be some mistake," Davey said, nervous. "He was sent here only a month ago."

"Only a month—oh! He must have been transferred." The man grinned again. Katherine was starting to find his amiable mood very irritating.

"Transferred to where?" She asked. "And why?"

"We haven't had enough room for a while," The man tutted. "Poor people. So we send them to Bloomingdale."

"Bloomingdale?!" Davey exclaimed. He had been trying to research other asylums in New York, and even though there wasn't much information about the medical practices, Bloomingdale had stood out as the worst.

"Yes," the man started to put away his paperwork, sighing in regret. "A shame, isn't it? We have so little room."

"How often does Bloomingdale allow visitors?" Katherine questioned.

"About once a month," the man answered. "The next allotted time is in two weeks."

"Two weeks!"

Katherine and Davey left the asylum, meeting the newsies out front. It was Katherine who told them.

"Crutchie isn't here. He's at Bloomingdale."


	11. Chapter 11

_Dear Mr. Kelly,_

_I regret to inform you that your time has run out. I am requesting on behalf of several people you may know that you come back to New York immediately. Upon arriving, I will secure a prominent position in my company as cartoonist, and also make sure that your lodgings, bed, board and whatever else you require are subsequently taken care of. I hope you will take my consideration into effect immediately._

_Sincerely,_

_Joseph Pulitzer_

_Editor of The World_

"Sir! Mr. Kelly, sir! Another letter's come in for you!"

Jack hardly glanced up from his painting until Nigel rushed to his side and practically stuffed the letter in his face.

"C'mon, Nige, I said you weren't to disturb me unless—"

"It is from Mr. Pulitzer, sir! I swear! Cross my heart!"

Jack gave him a slightly mistrustful look, but took the letter. He opened it up and read it as fast as he could, shaking his head as soon as he got down to the last line.

"No….no….this ain't right. He'd never ask me to come back—it's a fake! It must be a fake! The newsies, or Davey, or somebody must've written this—" His chest seized up. It was all a ploy, he thought suddenly. A trick to make him care again. "It's from Katherine, it's gotta be!"

Jack crumpled up the letter, squeezing it between his fingers. "Can't they see I'm happy out here?! Can't they see I don't need any of 'em?!"

He tossed the wad of paper back to Nigel. "Throw this away. And don't give me any more letters or telegrams or ANYTHING, you hear me?!"

Nigel swallowed, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jack returned to his painting, keeping an eye on the fading sunlight above. It bathed his surroundings in a warm, soft glow that was just enough to see by to continue painting well into the evening.

They had been wrong, about it being the same sun in New York and Santa Fe. Here, it was bigger. Everything was bigger. Except for his feelings. He had squashed those, keeping them closed and locked away where no one would ever find them again. It was better to not know what was going on in New York anyways. They were all doing fine without him.


	12. Chapter 12

"Hey. HEY! Get up, you got a visitor."

The guard rapped his cane on the bars of the cell, impatient.

"Get up, I said!"

From within, Crutchie stirred, blinking blearily up at the figure. In his hand he clutched a piece of paper. He threw it to the ground where it joined hundreds, even thousands of others just like it.

"Are you gonna take my letters today?" he asked, and the guard let out a raucous laugh.

"You got visitors, kid. Move it along—do I gotta come in there and make you?!

Crutchie struggled up to his feet, putting all his weight on his crutch as he limped toward the doors, dragging his bad leg as he went. The guard opened the door with a great crashclangclangcrash, almost deafening, though to Crutchie's ears that was almost music. Someone was going to see him. Someone besides the guards and the doctors and everyone in this place.

The guard took hold of his arm and Crutchie yelped in pain. The man glanced at him, giving him a sugary sweet, sickly smile.

"Does that still hurt?"

Crutchie nodded, and the guard twisted his arm. Tears sprang to Crutchie's eyes, but he went along with it. He had learned to.

The two walked down the halls, soon passing through where the majority of the patients were held. People yelled, screamed and cried, their shouts echoing off the walls in agony.

Crutchie shuddered. He was almost grateful to have a cell all to himself.

They arrived at a dingy, sparsely-lit room that only contained a table and three chairs. Only, there were two other people there—

"Crutchie!"

Katherine sprang to her feet, looking on in horror. The light threw her friend's bruises into sharp relief. Crutchie's eye was red, he had a yellow-bruise and most of his face seemed to be black and blue. He gingerly placed his hands on the table, and Katherine noticed with a lurch in her stomach that one of his fingers was broken. Davey was looking on in equal astonishment, and it wasn't pleasant.

"How…how are you?" Katherine asked, easing her way back into her chair.

Crutchie just nodded. "Fine."

"Crutchie, what have they—"

"Don't worry," Crutchie interrupted. "I know Jack ain't really here."

Davey held his breath at what came next.

"But I don't think none of you is here either."


End file.
